Things That Never Happened Between Brennan & Booth
by only-more-love
Summary: A series of oneshots about Brennan and Booth in response to the 5 Things That Never Happened challenge. Each chapter covers something that didn't happen between them, but could have. Chapter 4 is set a few weeks after Santa in the Slush.
1. Truth Is A Whisper

Five Things That Never Happened

Title: Five Things That Never Happened Between Booth and Bones  
(A part of the "Five Things That Never Happened" challenge)  
Author: Lerdo  
Summary: Many fics in many fandoms have been written in response to the Five things that never happened challenge. This is just my small, Bones/Booth-centric contribution. Part I is set at the end of Two Bodies in the Lab Season 1, Episode 15.  
Disclaimers: Please don't sue me; neither Bones nor the characters belong to me.   
Feedback: Always appreciated.

Part I: Truth is a Whisper

The black and white movie they had been watching on tv had ended hours ago. They moved on to Superman after that. Booth insisted they watch all the way through after he learned she had never made it to the end. When she had peppered him with snide comments about the ridiculousness of no one being able to recognize that Superman and Clark Kent were the same person simply because one wore glasses and suits and the other wore a form-fitting blue and red costume and no glasses, he had muttered something about suspension of disbelief, rolled his eyes, and shoved a spoonful of chocolate pudding into her mouth. The cloying sweetness had made her teeth ache. A glance at the plastic hospital-issue pitcher had found it empty, so she left the room to get some water. 

Booth was asleep when she returned. She tiptoed toward his hospital bed. "Booth," she whispered. No response but deep, even breathing. His eyes moved back and forth beneath the thin skin of his eyelids; he must be in REM sleep. She wondered what he was dreaming about. Her lips turned down in a frown as she looked over his face, neck, and bare chest. Cuts, contusions, and several burns -- all caused by the explosion in her kitchen.

His face should have been relaxed in sleep. Instead, fine lines bracketed his mouth, giving voice to pain he would never admit feeling while awake. She'd expect nothing less from an alpha male. She leaned forward but caught herself before she gave in to the irrational need to press her lips to the tiny spot of chocolate pudding by the left corner of his mouth. One quiet inhalation and she was surrounded by his scent. Chocolate, smoke, and the faded remnant of his cologne. The mixture of scents hit her hard, leaving her slightly dizzy. She felt as if she'd had several glasses of wine on an empty stomach. But she was completely sober. The stress of the past 24 hours must finally have caught up with her. Yes, that had to be it.

Temperance stifled a yawn and decided it was time to go home, even though she had the strangest urge to climb into the bed with Booth watch him sleep. She contented herself with a brief touch to his hair. It was mussed and ruffled instead of being carefully gelled in place as it usually was. The rough silk of his hair beneath her fingers reassured her somehow, just as his arms around her had reassured her that she was safe from Kenton and his slavering dogs. She backed away and turned to leave. One final glance over her shoulder confirmed that he was definitely asleep. A blush crept over her cheeks. If he woke to find her petting him like he was an overgrown cat, she'd never live it down.

She silently slipped out of the room, missing Booth's quiet sigh and the way his lips curved up in a tiny smile.


	2. Denial

**Title:** Five Things That Never Happened Between Booth and Bones  
(A part of the "Five Things That Never Happened" challenge)  
**Author: **Lerdo  
**Summary: **Many fics in many fandoms have been written in response to the Five things that never happened challenge. This is just my small, Bones/Booth-centric contribution. Pt. II is one version of how Bones might have found out about Booth & Cam.  
**Disclaimers:** Please don't sue me; neither Bones nor the characters belong to me.  
**Feedback: **Always appreciated.

Part II: "The worst lies are the lies we tell ourselves."

Though they had both agreed it was a mistake, that hadn't stopped them from repeating it again and again. Each time they finished, he silently swore it was the last time. But it was never enough to satisfy him for very long. The hunger was a constant torment. Her eyes were brown instead of blue, and her hair was black instead of red-brown.

It wasn't enough.

One night she dragged him to dinner instead of back to her apartment.

"Cam, I'm not looking for a relationship," he warned.

"Relax, it's just dinner." She smiled, dimple flashing. "We're not picking out China."

An hour and a half later, they left Mimo's, stomachs full of deep dish pizza. By this time his jacket had come off and his sleeves were rolled up over his forearms. They went back to the Jeffersonian so she could pick up a report she said she left in Bones' office earlier that day. He felt vaguely uncomfortable, so he waited outside her office until Cam grabbed his tie and tugged him inside with her. One more sharp tug and they were standing face-to-face in Bones' office. He made a move to leave. She pulled him in for a kiss that tasted of tomato sauce and questions he couldn't answer.

The sound of a throat clearing shattered the moment and they both looked up. Brennan stood in the doorway, labcoat draped over her arm and her hair loose and wavy around her shoulders.

"Oh." A quick twitch of her lips. "I'll come back."

The words lacked any inflection, but Booth watched her face and caught the quicksilver change of expression. Booth wasn't a squint, but he considered himself an observant man. There was a subtle shift; he noticed the slight narrowing of her eyes and firming of her lips. Both were a dead giveaway that she'd reached some conclusion. He just wasn't sure what conclusion she'd reached. He'd spent just about two years with her in the field and in the lab. Sometimes, when a new set of bones was brought in and Temperance had assembled them on one of the Jeffersonian's many examination tables, her eyes would sweep over them, ceasing only once she'd reached a conclusion. She would watch the bones, and Booth, Booth would watch her.

Cold. Dispassionate. All words he would once have used to describe his partner.

All the wrong words.

Her passion for truth equaled his hunger for redemption. Sometimes, he found himself painfully hard during those silent moments when she examined scraps of bone in her never-ending search for an ever-shifting truth. The first half-dozen times it had happened, he hadn't known what to make of it. Understanding eventually dawned -- the diamond-hard intensity of her focus hit him right in the gut -- and elsewhere. When she raised her eyes to his, Booth made sure to have a sly quip ready -- more to distract himself than to irritate her.

"No, stay, Dr. Brennan. I just came by to grab these." Cam waved the stack of papers in her hands. "Seeley and I were just leaving." She strode toward the doorway and glanced back at him, head tilted to the side. "Seeley?"

He gave a tiny shake of his head. "Good night, Cam," he said.

"Good night, Booth, Dr. Brennan."

Booth watched as Cam slipped past Brennan, listened as the click of her heels faded away. He slid both hands into his pockets and angled his head toward Bones' office couch. "You want to sit for a minute?" He silently cursed himself for the embarrassment that had turned his voice low. Uncomfortable, he waited for her to sit down before he took his place beside her. "Listen, Bones--"

"You could have told me you were in a relationship with Cam. I thought that, as partners, we should share information like that. I told you when I was seeing David and then Will--"

"Whoa. Hold on there a minute, Bones. Who said anything about a relationship? Me and Cam--"

"Well, I did walk in on the two of you kissing."

"Yeah, about that... Uh, sorry. But still...No relationship there." It seemed important that he convince her of that fact. Why, he didn't know.

Brennan nodded, and her lips curved in a smile that gave him the distinct impression that she was laughing at him. "So what you're saying is that you're having sex with Dr. Saroyan, but you're not in a relationship."

"Sex? Who said anything about sex?"

"Booth, you're starting to repeat yourself. Look," she said and gave him that patient look that told him he wasn't going to like whatever she said next. "I realize that you're a devout Catholic and may have some discomfort about sex--"

He cut in. "Hey, I'll have you know I haven't gotten any complaints about my sexuality."

Brennan continued as if he hadn't interrupted her. "...But I assure you that the biological urges that led you to sleep with Cam are normal and nothing to be embarrassed about. Humans have a need for sex -- for the intimacy of skin-to-skin contact and the cascade of hormones that accompany orgasm."

He couldn't help the groan that escaped at her words. He sent up a fervent prayer. _Please don't let her say anything else._

"I need it, and apparently you do, too," Bones said.

Clearly no one upstairs was listening. A sudden visual of Bones "needing it" flashed into Booth's mind and he covered his eyes. "For the love of...Please. No more."

Finally, he moved his hands and dared to sneak a peek at his partner. "So you're ok with.." He gestured vaguely with his hands.

"With you having sex with my boss?" She shrugged her shoulders, the picture of nonchalance. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

The fact that Brennan wasn't even slightly bothered by the thought of him and Cam didn't sit right with him. "So you're not even the tiniest bit..."

"What?" she asked. There was something in her face, something about the way she looked him in the eyes and then quickly glanced away.

But Booth couldn't say anything more without revealing something he wasn't even ready to admit to himself yet. "Nothing, Bones. Just, never mind." A glance at his watch confirmed that it was late. "Come on, I'll walk you out."

Brennan stood and moved toward the doorway. Booth waited a few moments before standing and following her out, his eyes glued to the gentle sway of his partner's hips. It was going to be a long night.


	3. You're dangerous, 'cause you're honest

**A/N: ** This is set sometime during the sixth year of Booth and Brennan's professional partnership. I wrote this ficlet in response to Alderaan's prompt, which was _Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses?_, a song by U2. I happen to love that song.

If this reads a little weird to you, don't be afraid to tell me that. :)

* * *

"Congratulations," Booth says, and bends to brush his lips across her powdered cheek. "Be happy." The scent of her perfume engulfs him and he closes his eyes for a second. Chloe, he remembers. 

"Thanks for coming."

"You're welcome."

"Seeley..." She trails off and shakes her head, biting her lip.

"I know, Rebecca." He smiles, not because he wants to, but because it is so clearly the right thing to do. "Be happy," he repeats. This time, the words come out stronger, because he means them. If she's happy, his son will be happy, and isn't that what matters most?

During their first dance, he slips out. As he lets the door to the ballroom close behind him without a sound, he realizes another chapter in his life has ended just as quietly.

A warm breeze washes over Booth as he steps outside, and he inhales deeply. He abandons his tie and suit jacket in the backseat of his car. Once he settles into his seat, Booth rolls all the windows down halfway. As he hits the highway and the car picks up speed, the air streaming in through the partially open windows thrums like a human pulse. With a sigh, he flips open his phone and dials. It rings twice before she picks up. "Hey, Bones."

Though it's a Saturday evening, she doesn't sound surprised to hear from him. For some reason, that makes him smile. "You eaten yet? No? Good. Meet me at the diner"--he tilts his wrist to check his watch--"in, say, twenty minutes." He listens for her confirmation. "Yeah. See you then. Bye."

The smile vanishes from his lips as he sets the phone down in the center console and switches on the radio.

* * *

Booth pulls open the door to the diner, and the artificially cooled air hits him with a whoosh. He scans the place, knowing she's there even before he catches sight of her dark hair. The tension he's been carrying around all day starts to seep away. 

On impulse, he slides in next to her instead of sitting across from her like he usually does. She raises her eyebrows in question, and he just shrugs. "Do you mind?" he asks, hoping she'll say no.

"No," she replies with a quizzical frown. "Should I?"

"Nope."

Brennan turns her head and studies him silently for a moment. He lets her, knowing she'll eventually tell him why she's looking at him like that. The years have taught him at least that much. Seconds slip by like beads on one of the chunky necklaces she's so fond of wearing. The frown leaves her face as if it had never been there. She opens her mouth as if to speak and then quickly shuts it again. As she leans in, he wonders what she's about to do. Then her lips are pressed to his cheek. The surprise washes over him the same as it did the first time she kissed him, as thanks for letting Russ see his sick daughter.

She sits back, regarding him steadily.

"What was that for?" he asks when he's finally found his voice again.

"You looked like you needed it."

"Oh," he says, and silently acknowledges the accuracy of her assessment.

"Well?" Her blue eyes narrow expectantly. "Was I right?"

His lips curve in a smile before he can think better of it. "Yeah," he says with a nod. "You were right."

The answering smile that tips her lips is a reward all its own.

"When did you get to be so smart, Bones?"

"Well, my IQ is—"

"Never mind," he says, patting her knee and flashing her an indulgent smile. "Where is our waitress?" he asks, craning his neck. "I'm starving. We need to order."

"Oh, I already ordered."

"Maybe you did, but what about me?"

"I ordered for you, too, Booth. You sounded hungry when you called. Burger, medium well. Fries with extra salt. Did I miss anything?"

"Uh, no," he replies, realizing he'd missed the part where she'd compiled a dossier on him. "I guess all I need is a drink."

* * *

To his surprise, she never asks him why he's in a dress shirt. Instead, they discuss the summer heat and the last case they worked together, before finally lapsing into an easy silence. Their meals are almost finished. She steals a fry from his plate, and he snatches a baby carrot from hers. The carrot crunches in a thoroughly satisfying way; he savors it before speaking. "Rebecca got married today." 

"Hmm. That accountant she was seeing?"

"Yeah. It was kind of sudden." He waits a beat. "She's pregnant."

"Oh." She blinks. "_Oh_."

"Uh huh."

"She married him," Brennan says, pointing at him with a fry. "She didn't marry you."

"Bingo."

"Ouch."

"Yeah," he says with a sigh.

"Do you wish it was you she married today?"

The question is as honest as she is, so he decides to answer it in kind. "No, I don't." He pauses, considering his words carefully. "I'd be lying if I said I never wondered what it would be like if we were all together. But me and Rebecca, we don't work like that," he says, and realizes he means it. "It's just that, before, it was just me, Rebecca, and Parker. Not together, but connected. Now, Parker's gonna have a step-dad and a half-sibling." Booth sighs and feels his shoulders slump. "And me...I..."

"And you will always be his father, Booth. You're still connected." She rests her hand on his shoulder; the weight and warmth of it comfort him. "In every way that matters, you're his dad. Parker knows that."

Unlike everyone else in his life, she doesn't say things she doesn't mean. So he accepts her words at face value and reaches up to cover her hand with his own. He gives it a light squeeze and then lets go. "Thanks, Bones." He clears his throat and looks out the window, noticing that the last remnants of pink in the sky are just barely holding on. Then he glances back at Brennan. "You want to go for a drive? It's a nice night."

"What about my car?"

He shrugs. "Leave it. We can come back later, or I'll bring you by tomorrow morning."

Brennan cocks her head, considering his offer. He sends up a quick prayer that she'll say yes. Being with her after the weirdness of the day feels good, easy. "All right. Let's go."

Her answer, and the decisive nod that accompanies it, make him happy, so Booth grins and rubs his hands together. "Now that's what I'm talkin' about." Booth spots their waitress and motions her over for the check.

* * *

Later, they zoom down 95, pushing eighty-five. The wind whips through the car and snatches the music from the radio. Night unfurls, and Booth rolls his sleeves up over his forearms as he gazes at the stars that wink all around them. Brennan says something, but he can't make out the individual words. "What?" he shouts. 

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, so he turns off the radio and closes the windows. "What did you say?" he asks.

Her elbow rests on the door, by the window, and she props her cheek on her hand. "I asked if you ever wondered what it would be like if we were together. Romantically, I mean."

The words are spoken in typical Brennan fashion, and they render Booth momentarily speechless. How should he answer? _Should_ he answer at all, or just change the subject? What should he say—uh, only every day for the past four years, and maybe even before that? No, so not smooth.

With a start, Booth realizes that he's taken his foot off the gas, so the car is rapidly decelerating. He puts his foot back where it should be and clears his throat. "Do you?" he asks, slanting her a look.

She folds her arms across her chest and glares at him. "That's not fair, Booth. You can't answer a question with another question."

"Can't I?"

"No, you can't."

"Huh. Ok." He falls silent, waiting.

"Booth," she says, giving him a verbal nudge.

He nearly smiles at the irritation in her voice, but he catches himself just in time. "Yes, Bones?"

"I'm waiting for an answer to my question."

"Oh. Yeah. So, can I hold your hand?"

"What?"

"I said, can I hold your hand?"

"I don't know, _can_ you?"

Booth groans, feeling like he's back in elementary school, having his grammar corrected by the teacher as he waits, desperately, to go to the bathroom. "Aw, come on, Bones. Give a guy a break." He heaves a sigh. When no response is forthcoming, he sighs again. "Oh, all right. Fine. _May_ I hold your hand?" He removes his right hand from the steering wheel and holds it out to her, holding his breath as he does so.

"Yes, Booth, you may," she finally answers.

He exhales. "Oh, thank god. I thought my arm was going to fall off while you made up your mind."

Brennan flicks him what he thinks of as her Mona Lisa smile and links her hand with his. "No, _I_ was waiting for _you_. I made up my mind quite some time ago."

Once again, he can't speak, so he settles for squeezing her hand and flashing her what he thinks of as his Bones smile.


	4. Truth Serum

**Timeframe:** A few weeks after _Santa in the Slush_.  
**Story Note:** Part of me is tempted to continue this one.  
**Author's Note: **I've been asked about updates on some of my other stories. There are some family issues that came to a head around the holidays. For a while after that, I didn't really have much writing time. Now I have a bit more, but since then, I've had a mental block around my older stories. Because of the life stuff that's happening, I think I needed the freedom to just write whatever I felt like writing for a little while. But I promise I'm not abandoning my older fics; I plan to be a bit more disciplined and dive back into them this coming week.

Also, I just wanted to reiterate that I always appreciate comments. I will NEVER hold my stories hostage until I get a certain number of reviews, but to be completely honest, I sometimes feel discouraged when I see how few people comment relative to how many hits there are for a given story. To any of you who have ever commented on one of my stories, thank you very much. To those of you who read but don't comment, just know that if you have a minute to spare, I would so appreciate hearing what you thought—even if you just post a smiley face. Please don't interpret this as a complaint; I just wanted to be honest with you. As always, thanks for reading.

* * *

"How many times do I have to tell you this? Jesus is not a zombie." Booth tossed a peanut into his mouth and waited for Brennan's sharp retort, but it never came. "Bones?" When she didn't respond, he swiveled to look at her. 

She'd fallen asleep, head cradled in her folded arms. Always a surprise—his partner.

"Ok. No more Black and Coke for you," Booth whispered next to her ear, fighting the urge to smooth her hair off her forehead.

"Yes. I'll have one more," she replied, slowly lifting her head and sliding her arms off the scratched surface of the bar.

"I think it's time to get you home." He finished off his drink and felt it settle warmly in his stomach; he preferred his Johnnie neat. Seeing her reach for her glass, he shoved it away from her. "Nope, I'm cutting you off. 'Cause you, Dr. Brennan"—he leaned in so they were at eye-level—"are drunk."

"I am not inberiated." Her eyebrows came together in a frown. "Inrebiated." She blinked owlishly and shook her head, and Booth coughed to cover the laugh that bubbled up in his throat.

"Inebriated?" he added helpfully, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, that," she replied, thumping her fist on the bar.

"Wait right here," he said, patting her shoulder.

"Don't order me around, Booth." She shrugged his hand away, scowling, and he waited a moment just to make sure she didn't slide off her barstool.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Bones," he said, tossing a grin over his shoulder as he stepped away to settle their tab.

He returned to find her trying to put on her coat—backwards. She bit her lip, deep in concentration, and Booth stood back, arms folded, and watched. It wasn't often that he had the chance to witness his partner demonstrating anything less than total competence. He had every intention of enjoying it while he could. "There's something wrong with these buttons, Booth," she finally muttered, looking up at him with confusion in her blue eyes.

Stifling a smirk at her predicament, he snagged the coat from her and helped her put it on the right way. After he'd made sure all the buttons were done up, he slipped on his own coat. Grasping Brennan's upper arm, he led her out into the cold January night in order to hail a cab. He wasn't drunk—just pleasantly buzzed—but there was no way he'd take that kind of chance.

* * *

After paying the driver, Booth slid out of the cab and came around the other side to help Brennan. They made their way up the sidewalk to her building without incident. When they stopped at the front door, she fumbled for the keys in her coat pocket and then promptly dropped them. "I have them, don't worry. I can find them." She bent to search the snow for the keys. 

Given Brennan's current state, Booth had a feeling his balls would turn into ice cubes before she found her keys, so he leaned down to help.

Unfortunately, she chose that exact moment to straighten, smashing her head into his jaw and sending him sprawling in the snow at her feet. "Ow. Jesus, Bones. Be careful."

"I told you I had them." With a triumphant smile, she jangled the keys in front of him. When it finally seemed to penetrate her freakishly-large brain that he was on the ground, the smile faded. "I am extremely sorry, Booth," she said, enunciating very carefully. "I didn't intend to injure you." She rubbed her head.

"Don't worry about it." Slowly, he stood, brushing off his coat and feeling the wetness the snow had left behind on his pants. "I'll live." Since he couldn't decide if his jaw or his ass hurt worse, he settled for rubbing the latter. Then he sighed and wiggled his jaw to make sure everything was still intact.

"Yes, of that I'm certain. At most you have a contusion." She stretched her arm toward him, and her hand grazed his hip. "I could massage it for you," she said, her expression earnest.

"Whoa." He grabbed her hand before it could wander anywhere dangerous. "Hands to yourself, Bones."

"Ah, yes. I forgot—the line." She nodded sagely, eyes wide.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The line that separates partnership from sexual intercourse, of course."

"Ok, let's get you inside." He'd temporarily forgotten there was something even more dangerous than her hands—her mouth.

"I suppose partners don't massage one another's buttocks."

Booth closed his eyes and tipped his head back, taking a deep breath of the wintry air. God definitely wasn't on his side tonight. That, or He was having a good laugh at Booth's expense. "No, that they don't." _Unfortunately._

"Pity. I've been told by several people that I have good hands."

"Uh huh."

"Are you certain you wouldn't like a demonstration?" If he didn't know better, he'd say she sounded almost hopeful.

"Yeah. Thanks, but"—he sighed regretfully—"no thanks."

* * *

Once he helped her into her bedroom and out of her coat, she sat down on her bed and immediately started yanking at her clothes. A sweater flew at his head and he stepped back, covering his eyes. He wouldn't peek. That wouldn't be gentlemanly, and he prided himself on being a gentleman. Well, most of the time. "What are you doing?" 

"Getting undressed. I'm hot."

Yes she was, he thought, picturing her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. "I'm uh, assuming you can manage that on your own, so I'm going to leave now." He turned away.

"But what if I need assistance?"

"Do you?" he asked, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down his neck.

"I think I do. I'm having difficulty with this button."

That which does not kill us makes us stronger, he reminded himself. "All right." He sighed and squared his shoulders, preparing to meet his fate.

Keeping his gaze glued to her face, he undid the button on her pants, careful to keep his hands away from everything else. Then he turned around again.

Fabric rustled as Brennan presumably pulled the pants down over her hips and... More rustling. "You can turn around now. I'm under the blanket."

When he turned around, he found her sitting up in her bed with the blanket pulled up over her shoulders.

"Did that make you uncomfortable?"

"No." He swallowed.

"Because you behaved as if you'd never seen a woman's body before."

"I've seen plenty of women, Bones. That's not the point—"

"Yes, I suppose you have," she said with a thoughtful nod. "Rebecca, Dr. Saroyan—"

"Ok. I'm going to leave now so you can go to sleep. Good night, Bones." Eager to escape, he didn't wait for an answer; he just turned and walked away.

But her voice stopped him in mid-step. "Angela says I have you wrapped around my toe."

Even though he should have been used to the whiplash changes in topic that often occurred during their conversations, this one threw him off. Just his luck that booze had removed the paper-thin filter she had between her brain and her mouth. He cleared his throat. "I think she probably meant finger, Bones," he said, turning and bracing his hand against the doorframe. "But please—do me a favor and don't listen to anything Angela says about you and me."

"So you're saying she's wrong?" He glanced up from studying the carpet to see something that looked suspiciously like disappointment cross her face; he'd always hated being the cause of that particular look.

"I'm saying"—he sighed and wiped his mouth—"that you're my partner and a good friend."

"Don't think I'm not aware that you didn't answer my question, Booth." Of course she'd noticed that. Even drunk, she saw things he'd rather she didn't.

"Bones, you're drunk, tired, and there's no point in having this conversation when you're not even going to remember it tomorrow." There. Maybe that would satisfy her.

"How do you know I won't remember it?"

"Well, I don't know for sure. But you did drink a lot. I'll tell you what"—he scratched the back of his neck and wondered if he'd live to regret what he was about to say—"if you wake up tomorrow and still have...questions, ask me then."

"Are you sure you mean that?" she asked, watching him with a frown.

With her looking at him like that, Booth knew he had no choice but to tell the truth. So he paused and repeated her question silently. When he was confident he knew the answer, he spoke. "Yeah, I'm sure."

The frown smoothed out, and Booth released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "All right. Good night, Booth. You can go now."

Her dismissal pulled a smile from him. "Night, Bones."

"Wait. Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"I lied."

"About what?" he said, frowning.

"Kissing you, well, it wasn't like kissing Russ."

Funny how she almost always got the last word. "Oh."


End file.
